


wasteland, baby

by Talinor



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Bonding, F/M, First Meetings, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talinor/pseuds/Talinor
Summary: Lightning struck nearby. He tilted his head up. Hoping for a visible sign of a better horizon. Only to see nothing but the valley and… something else. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he saw a shadow, illuminated by a flash of lightning, approaching him.That was the last thought before his hunger, fatigue, and pain claimed his consciousness.-In a world torn apart, two lonely people find each other.
Relationships: Caleb Widogast/Yasha
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	wasteland, baby

**Author's Note:**

> y'all.  
> i've only been into widoyasha for like a month but i love them.  
> you know what song the title's from. I thought it was fitting.  
> edit: this fic works under the assumption that yasha's bi, since her sexuality wasn't clear as anything but 'not straight' for a while. since that's not the case anymore, i won't be writing more widoyasha, but i won't be taking this fic down. it's a nice lil au, so...  
> enjoy!

It’s hard to live in a world that doesn’t want you.

Caleb was running. Always running. He could never get far enough to feel safe, but he made do with near-constant motion. The rain raged against him, slowly but surely drilling tiny holes in his already tattered coat. The wind blew against his frame with little reprieve; it was a wonder going against it hadn’t snapped him in half like the brittle branches of the few dead trees he’d passed.

The last community had warned him. This area wasn’t called The Iron Valley for nothing. There was little for miles but the lightning-burnt carcasses of life and the occasional mound of jagged black rock (which he assumed had iron within) to decorate the acid-soaked desolation. There was no end in sight, from where he stood.

There was even a legend attached to this place: the Orphan-Maker. Just the name gave the people shivers. Saying that she was one of the most fearsome magic-mad warriors when the planes first bled through. She was described as an angel of death, who took her last stand against an army of hundreds all alone. That the bloodshed and mountain of bodies earned her a portion of cursed land all her own: the land he was currently trespassing on.

…If he actually believed those stories. Or cared enough about his own life to not risk it with every step he took in the earth determined to wear through his shoes. Why should he be scared of a supposed ‘Orphan-Maker’ anyway? It’s not like he had any children to worry about, let alone any kind of family. He’d been his own Orphan-Maker.

He shook the thought away. Slipping into memory was dangerous. This was not the place or time to lose focus. Each step was harder to make than the last, but he had to keep going. He had to get out of here.

For a moment, lightning reached down somewhere in the distance. Thunder boomed around the valley like a furious drum to war. Bitter cold burrowed through his skin.

_Keep going._

The wind picked up the pace, carrying the stinging rain along with it. He was drenched. The acidic water wouldn’t be content with his coat for long. The earth tried to keep hold of him with every new step he took. It was getting harder to deny it.

_Keep going…_

His vision blurred at the edges, and it was slowly but surely creeping in. His foot got caught in the mud. It was… a bit concerning how much effort it took to get it out.

_Keep… Going._

He winced in pain as the acid stung his skin, adding heat to the bitter cold. Neither were canceled out. They lived in the peaceful coexistence of making his journey as hellish as un-humanly possible.

_Keep… going…_

Like an idiot, he tripped on a small chunk of slippery rock. He fell forward into the earth’s embrace. His pain skyrocketed in an instant, dormant puddles gleefully tearing into any exposed flesh. It was getting hard to concentrate.

_Keep…_

Lightning struck nearby. He tilted his head up. Hoping for a visible sign of a better horizon. Only to see nothing but the valley and… something else. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he saw a shadow, illuminated by a flash of lightning, approaching him.

That was the last thought before his hunger, fatigue, and pain claimed his consciousness.

A spark illuminated the darkness surrounding him, filling him with a warmth that grew with the forthcoming flames. It held him protectively, cradling his frail frame like an old friend. For a moment he felt… safe in the darkness, for he had all the warmth and light he needed.

Then the fire let him go, and began to grow.

Within an instant, the darkness shifted to show where he truly was. Smoke curled in under the frame of a door he didn’t know existed until then. Shimmering golden light soured into blood orange. Warmth turned into a still-growing heat.

He scrambled to his feet and opened the door. The doorknob was red-hot, but he grit his teeth and turned it regardless. He was greeted with a thick cloud of smoke that was more than happy to burrow into his lungs. It stung and made his insides feel drier than they should ever be, but he stepped out into the hallway.

Something in him was compelling him forward. To find the source of the light, the smoke, the heat. He had to snuff out this flame before it grew even worse. So, one rapid step after another, he persisted. He knew where he was, and it pained him to see it in this ruined and singed state. He did his best not to think about it, not to look at the singed old drawings on the walls.

As he neared the staircase, the heat grew worse. The light swelled with each step he took towards the source. His lungs burned from the billowing smoke, but he wouldn’t stop now. He couldn’t. Not when he was _so close_ to the answer.

He rounded the corner to find himself standing just a few stair-steps from the culprit’s back turned toward him. It was a young boy, about fourteen or so, surrounded by a ring of growing flame. Despite the ruins around him, the boy was unharmed by it. Untouched by it. But Caleb saw the fire grow brave, flickering slowly closer and closer to the boy. An ember popped out, landing on his sleeve.

He wanted to shout, to warn the boy of the coming danger, but all that came out of his mouth was the smoke choking his lungs.

The fire grew closer to the boy. The boy didn’t move, didn’t even flinch when another ember reached out for him.

Caleb tried to run, but his movements were as agonizingly slow as the flames. The fire had a head start on him.

It popped, embracing the boy’s arm for but a second. But a second was enough to transfer a small trail of flame to his sleeve.

Only then did the boy move, turning to face Caleb as the fire spread over his body. The boy’s face was calm as flames licked at it. His ginger hair embraced the similar hue around it. The boy’s eyes glowed—the tell-tale sign of magic madness, the sheer power taking over a creature unequipped to hold it—yet kept a hatred hotter than the flames within them.

Looking into them made Caleb realize just who this boy was.

Himself.

The human-shaped pillar of flame extended an arm towards him, fingers clawed toward the sky. The ground beneath Caleb rumbled. The heat around him grew braver. Closer. Only then did he find his voice, echoing words he’d heard oh so long ago.

“Bren,” he croaked. _“Please…”_

The hand clenched into a fist. Caleb only had a moment to mimic the screaming before the flames overtook him. The world turned white-hot, then into nothing at all.

Caleb woke with a start, automatically sitting up. His heart raced to prove it was still beating. His lungs were happy to prove the air around him held no signs of smoke. He was safe, wherever he was.

Wait. Where _was_ he?

A good question to ask, if the subject of a better one didn’t come through a curtain he hadn’t known was there a moment ago. Said subject was a tall woman with black and gradual white hair, with mismatched eyes and skin so pale it was practically marble. She was holding a clay bowl of… something, and looked pleasantly surprised to see him. “Oh,” she said, surprising him with how soft her voice was. “You’re awake.”

Caleb took this opportunity to ask both questions on his mind. “Who are you?” He tried to clutch at his coat, only to find it wasn’t there. “Where am I?”

She held up a hand undoubtedly bigger than his. “Questions later,” she told him calmly, moving the bowl towards him. “Eat first.”

Whatever was in the bowl… didn’t look too appetizing. It was mainly a warm gray-ish brown, interspersed with small chunks of cooked mystery meat. His stomach was barely occupied, but it still turned at the sight of what was offered to go in it.

Yet, looking at his gracious benefactor’s impressive muscles… he might not have much of a say in the matter. Might as well get it over with.

He shifted into a more comfortable position in the surprisingly soft pelt-cot he’d been lying on. “Danke,” he muttered halfheartedly as he took the bowl into his own hands. She nodded curtly, but didn’t make a move to leave his curtained-off space. Even when he looked away from her, he could practically feel her eyes on him.

Looking in the bowl didn’t make the food within it any more appetizing. So he closed his eyes, steeled his resolve, and took a tentative sip. It was…

…not too bad, actually. Better than he expected it to be, at least. It had a bit of a bitter kick to it, but it was smooth and warmed him up considerably. He took another drink and wound up with a sliver of the meat. It was a bit tough to chew, but it wasn’t the tasteless tree-bark called jerky in his pack.

He took another swig. Then another. Then another. So on and so forth until the bowl was completely empty. Judging from her slight elevation of eyebrows, the woman hadn’t been expecting him to finish it all that fast.

“Wow,” she said. “If I’d known you were that hungry, I would’ve fed you sooner.” She moved toward the curtain. “I still have some left in the pot. Do you want seconds?”

Honestly, he kind of did. But that would have to wait. “No,” he shook his head. “I want you to answer my questions. Who are you? Where are we?”

She sighed and sat at the end of the cot. “My name’s Yasha,” she gestured around her. “And we’re in my cave. I thought you’d, uh… want a bit of privacy if you woke up.”

Okay… two questions down. Millions more to go. He looked around, noting how small the area was. None of his things were anywhere to be seen. It was just the two of them on a now slightly tilted cot, curtains for one wall, and a curved decline of rocks for the other. A strange-looking greatsword leaned against the wall closest to the curtain, a few feet from the foot of the cot. Not reassuring him in the slightest.

“Your stuff’s fine, before you ask.” Yasha spoke up before he could open his mouth to speak. “There’s just not a lot of room in here.”

He pointed to the sword. “There was room for that, though?”

Her gaze followed his finger to its destination. “Oh, yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “Not a lot of people I find in the valley are as lucky as you are. That’s just a precaution.”

That… technically answered his question, but it also left him with a couple new ones. “Precaution for… what?”

Yasha opened her mouth to speak, but was promptly interrupted by a loud crash that sounded very close by. Far too close. He jumped a bit at the sound, but she didn’t even look surprised. Just sighed, stood up, and grabbed the sword like it was routine. Right before she was about to leave, she looked back at him and said four simple words.

“Want to find out?”

She left without waiting for an answer, leaving him to weigh his choices… and then scramble after her on legs that felt like they hadn’t been used in a while. What he ended up seeing was… a surprise, to say the least.

The rest of the cave was more spacious than he thought it would be. It was dry and mostly dark, save for the small fire below a spit. The kettle that had been hanging above the fire was now knocked over, broth and small meat chunks strewn about the earthen floor. It wouldn’t have taken a detective to determine who did it, because they were standing at the scene of the crime.

The seven culprits were creatures unlike anything he’d seen before. They looked vaguely humanoid, if severely starved. Varying parts of their skin looked near-identical to the trees outside: burnt to a crisp and brittle. Black lightning-like lines led from those areas through the rest of their skin, suggesting it wouldn’t stop there. Their eyes glowed a glassy, milky white. Yet that apparently didn’t stop them from turning to see Yasha and Caleb. Their features twisted into a snarl as they prepared to attack.

Yasha moved her arm back protectively over him, moving him behind her. She prepared the sword and stared down the strange creatures like she was settling into a routine.

The fire in the pit crackled up, reaching the closest one. It yelped in pain. The others took this as a cue to launch into an attack. They surged for Yasha. While she was ready for them, sheer numbers did not look promising. Two went down in one swing of her sword, but three more went for separate areas. One went around and locked eyes with him. The injured one stayed back, cradling their burnt leg. The wound was… spreading along the blackened leg like a fire to a dry log.

Before Caleb could really analyze what that meant, the one with eyes on him made its move. With the surprising strength behind such a brittle frame and his own still getting used to being vertical again, it didn’t take much to knock him down. It screeched, uneven fangs trying for his throat. He barely had enough strength to keep it off by just a few inches.

With its determination as seemingly strong as it was, that wouldn’t be the case for long.

He glanced over to Yasha. She was still standing, but having a similar problem. Two were holding her sword arm back, too far away for her to switch hands. The other arm was preoccupied with another two. One was securely on her arm, desperately trying to claw and bite at her skin. The other clung to her back and was trying to climb it.

So obviously she was a bit too preoccupied to notice his predicament.

But he wasn’t too preoccupied to notice something that may be crucial: the one on her arm was having trouble staying there. It only had one full leg, the other… burned off. None of them had that problem before, though the one hurt from the firepit…

With that, Caleb had an idea.

He didn’t take time to think much about his plan, for time wasn’t really on his side. All he had to do was wrench one hand free from the creature trying its hardest to tear his throat out, point it at the one on her arm, and…

_Fire._

It had been a while since he’d casted anything more than a flickering flame in his palm for light. He’d forgotten how it felt to cast a proper spell. To feel the surge of power originating from nothing but your will to make it so. To have your veins run along with the feeling of flame, even for a split second. Then he saw the bolt of fire shoot from his fingers and directly hit its back.

The creature shrieked in agony as it let go of Yasha’s arm to convulse on the floor. It was a simple spell, but it did far more damage than he thought it would. The fire spread fast. Far too fast. He couldn’t look away.

It’s not human, part of his mind whispered. It tried to hurt Yasha. One just like it is trying to kill you. Don’t look don’t look stop looking at it—

Reason faded to static as he saw the body burn. Distantly he felt a wet warmth splatter over his front, but no pain to accompany it. He couldn’t bring himself to ask or wonder. He was utterly frozen, watching the body swallowed by the flame he’d made. Hear the screams of agony as it desperately tried to survive.

He’d forgotten the rush magic caused, but in that moment, he remembered the regret. Of seeing something burn only because you willed it. No matter if you truly wanted them to burn or not. He didn’t. He _hadn’t. It was an accident. Ineverwantedthemto—_

Something gray stepped out in front of the body, leading to white as Yasha crouched down. “Hey,” her voice was calm and even. “You still here?”

It took his mind the longest moment to realize that she was real, that he wasn’t back at the house. He blinked a couple times to let his vision clear. He looked up to see Yasha peering down expectantly. Probably wanting an answer to her question.

“I…” his throat felt drier than the fire. So instead, he nodded. “Ja, I’m… I’m okay. Just a bit… shaken.” He sat up, only to be surprised with a dead creature still lying on him. A wide bleeding line ran along its back, still oozing a thick black substance he assumed was blood.

Yasha’s eyes landed on the corpse. “Oh, yeah.” She reached out to move it aside. “Sorry about that. Things got heated up there-- didn’t have time to focus too long on that one. Thanks for the help, though.”

His gaze lingered on the creature. “…You’re welcome,” he looked to her. “Regulars, I assume?”

She nodded. “They usually don’t come in packs that big, but yeah.” She stood, looking out to the cave entrance. Unsurprisingly it was still pouring rain. “Guess they felt cocky.”

He still had… so many questions. But he was beaten to the punch.

“So… you’re magic?”

For a moment, he considered trying to be humorous. Something like, what, the firebolt I summoned wasn’t a sign? But considering his abysmal luck with humor and the fact he really didn’t want to be thrown out into the acid rain or snapped like a twig, he decided against it.

“Indeed I am.” He admitted. “Is that… a problem?” Sometimes it was. Magic users had gained an… unpleasant reputation around most parts. It was mostly mild discomfort from the public, but he’d also had to flee a town or two trying to burn him at the stake to appease their angered gods. Or something like that. He’d be too busy running.

Life was fun like that.

She shook her head. “Nope, explains a lot, actually.” Her gaze returned to him, followed by an offering hand. “I’m guessing you have more questions?”

Without a doubt. He reached to accept the silent offer. She got him up and back on his feet like he weighed absolutely nothing. He probably didn’t to her. “You could say that.”

Yasha looked to the dying fire and knocked-over kettle. “Tell you what,” she walked over to a nearby makeshift table, stooping over to pick the kettle back up and on said table. “I’ll answer them… after cleanup.” She pointed to the firepit. “Think you can revive that?”

He nodded.

=

Yasha hadn’t gone out looking for survivors. At this point, the only people she’d find in the Valley were either too far gone or absolutely suicidal. Especially the ones she’d find passed out. It didn’t stop her from helping, but she didn’t go out trying to find people to help out.

That’d been Zu-… _her_ job.

No, Yasha had been out for some light-day hunting. It’d been the one day a year the storms would let up enough for curious animals to explore the Valley and not immediately get decimated by the lightning or rain. She was set to take advantage of it. The drops sizzled against her weathered leather armor, but it held up reliably. As it always did.

The haul had been small so far, but it’d certainly be enough to last her another month or two. Maybe more if she drew it out with the less-fresh reserves. Not as much as she’d hoped, but she’d been optimistic.

Then she saw something in the distance. A figure illuminated by a lightning flash, then another. The wind played with her hair, insistently pushing her in that direction. So she obeyed.

As she got closer, she got a clearer image of what the far figure really was. Somehow, for whatever reason, a deer had wandered into the Valley. It’d been sniffing the ground, looking for food, until she got closer. Her scent reached it. Unsurprisingly, it began to run. She followed in pursuit, sword at the ready.

Naturally, she would’ve had virtually no hope of getting close enough to the deer to use her sword on it. But she had an advantage on the poor thing: she knew the grounds of the Valley well. She knew where not to step. It didn’t, and more than once was tripped up by the mud trying to trap it. She was getting closer and closer until…

The wind shifted away, stronger than before and blowing hair into her face. She got the message and moved her gaze in that direction to find a sight she hadn’t seen in a while: a man passed out in the mud without any signs of plague on him. He was still breathing, and had apparently passed out rather recently. The wind shifted and curled around his soaking wet and shivering body, creating a rare dry spot the rain dared not touch.

She slowed down to consider her options. That deer could set her up for an entire year alone if she was careful, but… it was already obvious what She wanted Yasha to do. The winds were wordless, but she could almost imagine two simple words in Her long-lost voice.

_Save him._

She sighed. There wasn’t much of a choice; the deer was long gone by now. “Fine,” she said to the heavens. “But if he ends up turning and trying to bite me in the middle of the night, that’s on you.”

It was probably just the wind traveling through a hole in a nearby dead tree, but she could’ve sworn she’d been answered with a laugh as she settled to carry the stranger and her earnings back to the camp.

=

“So those… creatures were the result of some plague?” Caleb asked, clutching his clay mug closer to him. “What causes it?”

Yasha stoked the fire, looking forlornly into it. “I don’t know what causes it,” she said quietly. Evenly. “You remember when the planes bled through?”

He nodded. The day the plane of magic opened was the start of this whole… lifestyle. Of running and pretending not to hear the screams or feel the magic within yearning for another try at control.

“Mana-bloods, or whatever the fuck they call us now, we’re immune to it.” If he didn’t know better, he’d say the increased shining of her eyes was just a reflection of the fire. “Figures. Most of us are too busy trying not to go crazy anyway. But the lucky ones, who didn’t get cursed? They can turn into those… husks. No symptoms, no cure, just… one day they’re fine, the next they’re trying to tear your throat out.” She shrugged. “I don’t understand it. I don’t really try to.”

Caleb’s brows furrowed. “But how do you know they can’t be—” He stopped abruptly as soon as he looked at Yasha. She was staring right at him. Her expression was fairly neutral, but her mismatched eyes sent the same message without her needing to utter a word: _Don’t._

In that moment, he understood to some extent. In her he saw the same haunted expression he had to live with every day. So for her sake, he never finished that question.

=

Weeks went by. The two of them settled into a routine. A cave wasn’t the most lavish place Caleb had ever stayed in, but it most certainly wasn’t the worst either. It was warm. It was dry. It had plenty of food to eat, even if most of it was painfully dry preservatives.

Every other day, Yasha would go out in the morning in heavily-padded leather and fur armor and try to find something to eat that wasn’t acid-ridden to hell. Most of those evenings she’d come back empty-handed. The lucky times meant she’d come back with a couple small animal parts.

Caleb stayed in at all times, all too familiar with how the weather outside felt. Every day it rained far more than it had the night he’d been walking through the Valley. With how it was (and his abysmal luck), he’d make it… 10 steps fully outside before it got to him. Maybe 15 if he was lucky.

Instead, he found other ways to be productive. Each night before the two of them went to bed, he’d roll some twine along the cave’s only entrance and enchanted it with a spell he knew all too well: Alarm. If any husks or anything crossed the threshold he set, he’d know immediately. It saved them far too many times to count. So, whenever Yasha found some cording or something that could be fashioned into it, she knew who to bring it to.

He also learned how to make the rainwater from outside drinkable. Yasha had two methods: one of which was allowing water to sit in a special ditch she dug and let the harmful materials slowly absorb into the earth. But he preferred the second, much faster option: boiling the hell out of it. No firepit needed. Just one hand to hold the kettle full of water, and the other to hold the flames underneath.

It wasn’t much, but they were surviving just fine.

Every day, he’d wake up and tell himself. Today was the day. He’d pack up his things, maybe use a magical shield for the rain, and leave. Head off to a new horizon.

And every day it’d be a lie. For the life of him, he couldn’t explain why. This cave had grown on him… like a tumor. A strangely comfortable tumor, but a tumor nonetheless.

Every night, he’d finish up Alarm and go to bed and tell himself. Tomorrow would be the day.

=

One night was worse than any other. By the time Alarm went off, the husks were already inside and set upon him. A web of fire dealt with most before they could do any real damage, but one managed to avoid the attack. It reared itself, ready to pounce. Nothing would’ve been able to stop it in time. So he decided to do things the magicless old fashioned way.

He dodged, rolling off his cot as the creature jumped. It landed on his makeshift bed with a crack and a loud shriek. The cot, held together by old wood and hope at this point, naturally didn’t take too kindly to a propelled force landing on it. It caved under the pressure immediately and threw the husk off balance. The fabric tore, the wood splintered; it was a chaotic mess.

But it was an opportunity. Caleb decided to go simple for this one and shot out a fire bolt. It did what it was supposed to, but it had… unforeseen side effects.

In less contrived terms, the remains of his cot caught on fire. Barely a spark was sent out from the spell, but that was enough to start and spread rather quickly. Caleb sprang to his feet and went to run for some water, only to run right into a disheveled but battle-ready Yasha. He was knocked back on impact. She didn’t flinch.

She observed the scene. The ash piles were good, but the cot was going to join them soon enough. “Don’t bother,” she told him, moving the closest curtains away from the small blaze. “It’ll burn itself out soon enough.”

He didn’t doubt that. There was one pressing issue at the forefront of his mind, though. “Do you… have a spare cot?”

“No, why?”

“Then… where am I supposed to sleep?” He asked.

Yasha’s brows shot up. “…Oh.” She thought about it for a moment. Almost… internally debating something. “I have an idea, but it’s kinda… weird.”

He looked at her curiously. “How so?”

“Well if you’re, uh, okay with it…” She scratched the back of her neck. “My bed has plenty of room for two. And tomorrow, I can try to find some better materials to make you a new bed. If you want it.” She side-eyed his bag, always packed and ready to go. A physical reminder of the plan that never left the back of his mind.

Out of all the things he thought she’d suggest, this was… definitely not one of them. It was certainly very kind. But he still hesitated to accept. “Would that… be alright with you?”

Her brows furrowed. “I asked. Why wouldn’t it be alright with me?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But you seem… kind of uncomfortable at the prospect. I can always sleep on the floor just for tonight if that’s—” He was interrupted by a surprisingly soft hand on his shoulder.

“Caleb,” Yasha said softly. “You don’t have to sacrifice your comfort for mine. Is this… ideal? No. But it’s the best idea we’ve got, ‘cause I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fucking floor like a dog. You’re my friend.” She cracked a smile. “We can survive one night, right?”

He… honestly didn’t know what to say. Sure, he’d felt a kinship with Yasha over the past couple months or so. But until that moment, it had stayed unspoken. It was more comfortable to think theirs was a more symbiotic relationship for their mutual continued survival.

But friends? It’d been… a long time since he’d had those. Friends were messier. More attached than a simple association. Not as easy to leave behind. This moment felt like a line was right in front of him. One he could cross into new and possibly dangerous territory, or fall back with the familiar. The choice was his.

He nodded. “Ja, I think so. One night won’t hurt.”

=

It was not ‘only one night’.

Ever since that fateful night, they’d sleep in the same bed. More efficient that way. Safer that way. Other lies they could tell themselves to make the situation a little less awkward. They never really talked about other sleeping arrangements. This simply became the new norm: sleeping back to back, usually with an inch or so between them. Usually.

It was… strange. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept in the same general area as someone else without feeling uneasy. Like he had to be prepared at any moment, just in case they tried anything while he slept.

Strangely enough, he didn’t feel that way with Yasha. He couldn’t explain it, but something about sleeping in this situation actually made him feel… secure. He didn’t have to worry as much when he knew she was so close. If anything happened, they could face it together.

…Huh. He couldn’t remember the last time he thought of anyone that way. It was highly possible that time was… never. Spending most of your time running from cursed place to cursed place did that to a person, he supposed.

One night, he grew restless. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t find it in himself to fall asleep. It was a night like any other. The only difference was Yasha wasn’t in bed yet. But that’d be an absolutely ridiculous reason for insomnia, right? It’d been nice to have the steady presence of her back against his, but he didn’t need it to fall asleep. Did he?

After what felt like another eternity of restless tossing and turning, he landed on a tentative maybe. Nevertheless he ended up getting out of bed to check on what she was doing.

What he saw was… not what he’d been expecting.

She sat cross-legged by the fire, focused intently on what she was doing. The gray furred shawl she always wore was at her side, baring her shoulders and upper back. Showing him some… very interesting back tattoos. The most noticeable was a depiction of black bonelike wings spanning a fair share of space. The other was far more subtle, but far more interesting. Near the nape of her neck in small, but bold black lettering stood two words in a language he barely knew.

But he knew well enough to know what ‘Orphan Maker’ looked like in their written word. It looked almost… branded on. Like a mark of shame given long ago that never went away.

So the legends held a hint of truth to them. He was certainly surprised, yet strangely… not afraid. He still remembered the horrific stories, and she’d had to have earned the name somehow, but who was he to judge? He knew the legends’ generalized side of that story, but he also knew Yasha. He couldn’t bring himself to be genuinely afraid of her for what could have very well been one big life-ruining mistake.

If anyone understood how it felt to make big life-ruining mistakes, it was him.

So instead of running away or quietly going back to bed, he came closer. Upon closer inspection, he realized just what Yasha was doing. She held a small, surprisingly sturdy stick in her hand, and was using it to draw a figure in the dirt. Her expression was one of intense concentration. Whoever this woman she was drawing was, it was apparently very important to her to get it right.

The woman in question had a round, almost chubby-looking face. Her eyes looked happily back at her artist’s, lined with a thick horizontal line that ran underneath both of them and land just above slightly pointed ears. Her hair was wild and frizzy, barely concealing two small horns. Yasha was currently working on her freckles, rapidly dotting the expanse of the mystery woman’s face.

“Am I… intruding on something?” Caleb finally spoke up as he got closer.

Yasha jumped slightly in surprise, hand stopping right in its tracks. “I, uh…” She trailed off awkwardly, looking between him and the picture. Probably knowing it was too late to try and hide it from him. “…No. I just, uhm… I got a bit caught up there. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” he said, moving to sit next to her. “May I… ask who this person is?” He gestured to the picture. “She’s drawn quite beautifully.”

Yasha sighed, looking down at the picture forlornly. “…Yeah, she was. She was kind, and smart, and… a lot better than what I deserved.” She reached a hand out to rest it on the drawing’s cheek. “It’s been a while, but… I don’t want to forget her face.”

He had far more questions on his mind, but he knew his limits. This didn’t seem like something she was too thrilled to talk about. He could understand that. So he stayed in silence, and she did the same. They just sat together, enjoying the warmth and occasional crackling of the fire to fill for conversation.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep or even feeling tired. But before he knew it, he was waking up back in an empty bed, a familiar shawl wrapped around his shoulders.

=

After that night, things… shifted between them. Like there’d been an invisible wall separating them, one they hadn’t even known the existence of until it was torn down. Conversation was still quiet, but far more prevalent. The two grew more comfortable with each other as the weeks passed. They still had their routine, but now they actually… looked forward to seeing each other again while separate.

Yasha… didn’t know what to make of it. The comfort and familiarity with another person felt nice, but something in her was determined to ruin all that. To whisper in her ear cheerful phrases like ‘this won’t last’ and ‘you’re betraying Her’.

…Was she? It’d been years since She was taken, and about as much time as Yasha had been alone. Intermittent interactions with people she’d try to save, only to defend herself when the plague eventually took them too, didn’t count in her mind.

Caleb was… different. It’d been a couple months now, and he was perfectly fine physically. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he didn’t just… go. Leave this place. Sure, there was the rain, but she’d seen what he could do with his magic by now. He was smart. She had no doubt in her mind that he’d find a way to protect himself from the volatile elements if he really wanted to leave. She’d seen the bag. She knew he was always ready to go.

“So why doesn’t he?” she asked the storm, hoping for an answer.

The only answer she got was the wind on her face and a crack of lightning in the distance.

That night, same as usual, she went to bed. Caleb followed suit soon after he finished setting up his twine perimeter. They laid back to back and mutually drifted off to the warm embrace of sleep.

But back to back was not how they woke the next morning.

She came to as she usually did, but for whatever reason, her arm felt a bit… dead this morning. Like it was full of dull pins and needles that removed other feeling from it entirely. Blearily she wondered why… then her opening eyes gave her the answer.

Somehow, the two of them had unconsciously turned around in bed to face each other. Not only that, but they’d actually… moved closer to each other overnight. Caleb’s head rested beneath her chin, snuggled up just short of her neck. Still close enough to feel his fast-asleep puffs of breath. Her arm without feeling rested beneath his body, the other just above his hip to complete the embrace. His arms were pretty much the same way, only resting on her back instead. Their legs were mildly tangled together.

Caleb was still asleep, but Yasha certainly wasn’t at the sight before her. Her mind raced. What should she do? How did this even happen? Why did this even happen? She should do something, right? Should she try to stealthily get up? Wake Caleb up? Pretend to go back to sleep and hope the problem fixes itself?

She froze as he stirred with a hitch in his breath, but it was a false alarm. He just moved closer, content to burrow into the warmth as the source of it silently panicked. It was difficult to see his face without risking waking him up, but she could swear she saw him… smiling.

At that moment, something dawned on her. She realized why Caleb hadn’t left despite the many opportunities to do so. The same reason she hadn’t left this cave behind in far too long. A stray gust of wind blew in, rustling makeshift hide curtains to cradle her face lovingly. In the whistle of it, she could almost hear Her voice.

_“It’s okay.”_

With a small smile of her own, she drifted back off to sleep.

=

_“Do you have everything ready to go?”_

_“Yeah… just taking one last look at the place. It was a good home.”_

_“Ja, it was.”_

It’s hard to survive in a world that doesn’t want you.

But as the two of them stepped out to venture out of the Iron Valley after a year (right down to the day), they knew that the challenge of living in it would be eased. 

And so they went, The Orphan-Maker and Fire-Scourge, into a cursed world. As long as they had each other, not even the planes themselves could stop them.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment! i worked hard on this  
> my tumblr: squishy--squish  
> my discord: Mattuwu Mewcew (Squish in most servers)
> 
> thanks for reading!!


End file.
